


Bleeding Out

by jadore_macabre (goodworkperky)



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Blood, Established Relationship, Implied Relationships, Knife Wound, M/M, Stabbing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-08
Updated: 2013-07-05
Packaged: 2017-12-14 07:20:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/834225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goodworkperky/pseuds/jadore_macabre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal decides to take Will after being discovered as the Ripper.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Will, is Hannibal with you?" Alana is nearly breathless when she picks up the phone.

Will's brow furrows in confusion at the sound of urgency in her voice. He looks over to where the doctor is making breakfast, and he runs a hand through hair still damp from the shower.

"Yes, why? Is something wrong?" Will asks. "You and Jack called nearly twenty times. I was going to leave in a few—"

"Get away from him," Alana interrupts. "Will, do you hear me? Jack's on his way."

"Wh—"

"He's the Ripper," Alana tried to say, but Will never heard it.

There is a sharp pain in the profiler's right side, so intense he drops his phone where it breaks on the floor like so many puzzle pieces. He takes a step back with knees weak and feels the familiar warmth and solidity of Hannibal behind him. But when Will looks down, there was a knife buried deep into his side with Hannibal's hand grasping the handle.

Will's legs feel boneless as he tries to wrap his mind around the possibility of Hannibal doing such a thing. The only thing keeping him from falling is the strong, steady arm wrapped around his chest.

The doctor removed the blade with a sharp pain-filled cry from Will, and slowly lowers him to the floor. Will immediately rolls onto his side and tries to crawl away on hands and knees. But the floor is slick with his blood and it's hard with only one hand. He's trying to keep insides where they belong.

Hannibal kneels, careful of the growing pool of blood. "We only have a few minutes before Jack arrives so we'll say our goodbyes here."

Will presses himself back against the base cabinets even as he struggles to pull himself up by granite counter tops. But his hand is slippery with blood and he can only manage to get up on his knees. The pain and the blood loss is making his head swim.

"It's better this way," Hannibal continues. "It removes much of the suspicion from you."

Will doesn't say anything because he knows Hannibal's right and he's almost grateful. Even if Will was an accomplice, Jack is less likely to suspect if Hannibal almost managed to kill him. There's a stream of curses just waiting to be let loose on the tip of Will's tongue, but he doesn't say any of them.

Hannibal sniffs the air and frowns. "I've nicked the bowel. Do you think Jack thought to call for an ambulance? I'll call on my way out." He kisses Will quickly before he rises to his feet. "Keep pressure on that wound."

But Will doesn't. He grabs hold of Hannibal's shirt with both hands, drags himself to his feet while the doctor watches in mild curiosity.

"Liar," Will chokes out. His arms are wrapped around Hannibal's neck and he's leaning heavily on him because his legs just don't seem to want to work.

"You'll bleed out," Hannibal says. Despite himself, he's keeping pressure on the wound.

Their noses a paper thin distance apart, their mouths almost as close. And Will is suddenly faced with the shattering reality of just how dangerous that mouth is.

"You hate liars, you hypocrite," Will's head lolls to the side and his hands are slipping. Everything looks a little less bright.

Hannibal bares his teeth. For a brief second he almost looks like he's going to bite into Will's exposed jugular. But he doesn't. He puts a kiss there instead and he shifts his hold so that he's carrying the profiler in his arms.

Will bites back a cry at the seering pain in his side. He blinks and when his eyes open again, he's looking at the ceiling of an ambulance. Thoughts are slipping in and out like a needle with no thread. Will's just struggling to remain awake despite the dark edges creeping in his sight. He throws a hand over his eyes, blood cold now on his hands. He tries not to cry from the pain of it all because he doesn't need anyone to see how unraveled he is.

There are hands over his, warm familiar hands. And they're pulling away the hand from his face and pushing up his sleeve. Will's eyes fly open and tries to jerk his arm away but a strong hand holds it fast.

"I'm going to give you an anesthetic," Hannibal says as he cleans a spot on Will's forearm and slips in a needle before he places an oxygen mask over his nose and mouth.

"The others?" Will slurred as he listlessly looks around. "How? Did you…?"

"I don't care about their lives, Will. My only interest is to save yours."

"Should have left me." Will's eyes flutter close. "Jack…he'll find…"

"Considering I've just intercepted and stolen an ambulance, this does make it easier for him." Hannibal rolls up his sleeves and puts on sterile gloves. "Shall we begin?"


	2. Chapter 2

Will tries to pull himself from drug-fueled unconsciousness, but trying to maintain clarity is like trying to catch smoke in his hands. Thoughts are shifting, vibrating, spilling. He feels fluid. Memories that aren't quite his own seem to bleed together, bleed out. He's bleeding, ears are buzzing like a swarm of flies gathered around a corpse.

Eyes struggle to pry open to find the world is skewed and given a too bright edge. A hand that feels too heavy comes to rest on the side of his neck. A thumb brushes over stubbled jaw to leave a strange sensation on too sensitive skin. Will turns his blurred sight to see Hannibal sitting on the edge of the bed, and memories that he doesn't really want to remember claw their way up, demanding his attention and threatening to overwhelm him.

Turning his head, Will tries to gather his thoughts enough to form words but all he can do is focus on a blood bag hanging from an IV pole, and it feels like more than blood is being transferred by tube to vein. Will feels as if he has been taken apart and put back together. Frankenstein's monster.

"Will, look at me," Hannibal commands almost gently.

The profiler pulls his hand from beneath the doctor's before he struggles to sit up. The world spins wildly and he feels sick. But he keeps his eyes away from the other, choosing to focus out this strange bedroom window. He doesn't know this scenery; it's not like the woods of Wolf Trap and there are too many trees for it to be Baltimore. It feels like someone's taken a painting and put it before his eyes. The colors blend. He feels sick.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Will closes his eyes as if eyelids were barriers, dream catchers made of flesh. But nightmares are a constant now. "Don't say anything," he says slowly, voice rough and low from lack of use.

Hannibal stays quiet, doesn't speak or move even when Will takes the IV line from his arm, spilling blood on unfamiliar sheets.

"What did you take?" Will breathes as he tilts his head back. Inhale. Exhale. Gut churns at the thought of Hannibal's hands inside him, touching organs, choosing which best to grace his dinner table. But he remembers Hannibal's hands on him, soft and warm during the midnight hours. Lips make trails down.

Inhale. Exhale. He has to remind himself to breathe.

Hannibal's lips curl in the hint of a smile. "I assure you, everything is exactly where they should be."

Will opens his eyes and he wants to vomit. "Go to hell," he whispers as he stands. He's too drugged and too exasperated to put any malice in the words. He's taking limping steps to the door, blood seeping through the bandage on his bare torso like a visual aid to the throbbing pain.

He doesn't know where he's going, doesn't know where he is but he can't stand another second of being the focus of Hannibal's predatory stare. The smell of blood is overwhelming, but he can just see Hannibal small smile, eyes gleaming at the aroma. He's like the fox that smells prey. And Will feels like he's just been skinned.

Off white walls are his support until his knees quiver and he lists dangerously. Hannibal is less than a foot away and his hand goes out to catch the profiler. But Will flinches violently at his touch, his voice near a growl when he says, "Don't touch me."

But Hannibal's still reaching out for him, pressing him back against the wall, fingers intertwined and hands pinned up above his head. Their noses are a paper thin distance from touching, but it feels like they are a chasm apart, a stab wound away from a lovely murder.

"Where are you going to go?" Hannibal whispers. There is the hint of a smile in his eyes when Will bares his teeth slightly and tries to push away. "You won't find a phone here. And you would never make it to town."

"I hate you," Will breathes, exhausted. He would have slid down to the floor if Hannibal wasn't supporting him.

Hannibal kisses Will's cheek softly, his breath warm on sensitive skin. He's smiling softly when he asks, "Would it make you feel better to hurt me too? One pain for another."

Will closes his eyes and forces himself to not be sick. His heart pounds painfully in a too small ribcage, echoes in his ear like a drum. Breathing in, bleeding out.

"Let go," Will says in a near plea through clenched teeth. He swallows thickly. He only has on the pants from earlier and the bandage that's stained red. Hannibal feels too hot on bare skin, too rough. The profiler takes a steady breath in and his eyes go heavenward, tears well in the corners from sharp pain. For a brief moment, Hannibal's reminded of Saint Sebastian. Will is the epitome of art. He's the statue of David, the Archangel Michael. And here Hannibal stands, the modern Lucifer.

"Would you stab me like I've done you?" Hannibal asks, head inclined slightly in question.

Pressing his lips in a thin line, Will shakes his head slowly. His chest hurts like an explosion has just gone off because he loved him still, he really did. But after a moment he can't help but give a short manic laugh. "This is it, isn't it? The entirety of our relationship was built on corpses and lies in the hopes that I would destroy myself and then what—become you?"

"Not destroy—evolve," Hannibal corrects. "For every person there is the opportunity to create a great murderer, be it a single crime or many. Your gift makes you unique in many ways. I was interested what ways your murders would transpire."

Will inhales slowly, breathes like there's not enough air to spare. Anger wells up in his chest but drowns in pain and betrayal. He's on the edge of that chasm, and he's ready to jump.

He slips his hand from the doctor's, fingers curling into a fist and he breathes in as he strikes as hard as he can. The aim is off with the drugs still coursing through his system, but the fist connects and the doctor's head snaps to the side. When he looks back at Will, blood runs down to his chin and he can't help but bare his teeth in reaction. But Hannibal takes a second, an inhale as he put his hands to either side of Will's face. The tip of his tongue runs along his bottom lip to wipe away blood.

Inhale. "I had hoped we would spend more time together," the doctor sighs with a tinge of regret. "The clocks have stopped now, our time is done."

"Turn yourself in," Will murmurs, grasping the doctor's forearms.

"No plea for your life, no 'if you loved me'?"

"No," Will says quietly as he looks down. "Either you'll kill me or you won't. But if you run, you'll be another body in the morgue. They'll make up names for you, put them on cheap newspaper headlines. They'll be commercialized second rate journalist labels; Tattle Crime titles. And maybe they'll remember you for awhile. Maybe they won't. "

"Would that bother you?"

A heartbeat of a pause. "Yes."

Before he can say any more, Hannibal has the profiler's back pressed to his chest, hand wrapped around his throat. Will feels like he's stepping into that chasm, plummeting. Legs jerk and hands grip tightly at forearms as air is cut off. Whole orchestras play nameless pieces in the backdrop of his mind with sounds so loud, he's overwhelmed. Tidal waves rise above his head, promising to drown him. And when darkness settles, he feels like a body drifting out to sea, cradled in gently lapping waves.

There's a voice that soft and too high-pitched for Hannibal. It's too vague to make out words. Will doesn't bother to open his eyes. He wants that soft peace of unconsciousness, but his eyelids are being opened and a blinding light flashes in his eyes.

"Will." It's Beverly's voice that Will recognizes. A hand touches his forehead. It's soft like a hum. She's calling his back to consciousness as his lids flutter. But he wants the keep them closed, doesn't want to look at anything lest it's all a dream.

Jack's voice calls him. It's loud and rough and holds a hint of fear. Will's lips moved with silent words. He wants to Jack he's ok, he's still alive.

"We're going to get you out of here," Katz promises. "You're going to be ok."

"Hannibal," Will coughs out, still not ready to open his eyes.

"He wasn't here," Jack answers. "There's just you and the ambulance parked in the back. We'll catch him though." He puts a hand on his profiler's shoulder. "You'll be alright, Will."


End file.
